


Blame it on Marci Stahl

by Notawriterjustalurker



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Drinking, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Girls' Night Out, Humor, Idiots in Love, Post-Season/Series 03, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/pseuds/Notawriterjustalurker
Summary: Is Marci Stahl the best thing that's ever happened to Karen and Matt?Of course, the answer is yes.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Marci Stahl, Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 32
Kudos: 51
Collections: Karedevil Bingo





	1. breaking Karen Page

**Author's Note:**

> Using this for my free Karedevil Bingo square under the prompt 'birthday' 
> 
> Just to give you an idea of what's ahead, the first two chapters are Marci's POV and the third and forth are Karen and Matt. Hope you enjoy ☺️

It's not exactly uncommon knowledge; Marci Stahl doesn't like many people. 

It all started last year; not long after Matt had gone AWOL. And no, Marci's not an idiot. Nothing about it added up then, and it sure as hell doesn't add up now. 

But, despite what people think, she can be sensitive when she wants to be and so she hadn't pried. Even when every bone in her body wanted her to.

She never really asked about how Matt had managed to crawl his way out of whatever hole he'd accidentally dug himself into. Part of her doesn't even want to know, but she does hope Foggy's at least keeping a list of all his bullshit somewhere – hell, if it were her she'd probably have a file by now.

Luckily for Matt, her strong opinions on the matter rarely reach the sharp end of her tongue. A mercy she shows because Foggy's never happier than when he's around. Karen, on the other hand, is a different kind of mysterious. When it comes to blind lawyers with questionable character, the jury's still out on whether she's got a file, a voodoo doll with pins in its eyes or a diary full of sweet 'iloveyous' – It's probably what attracted her to Karen in the first place. Marci finds her interesting, naturally, because she's nosy. And that was what had become the foundation for their successful friendship.

**

Today's sunday, and tomorrow is Karen's birthday. She's booked a much needed day off work and that means Marci has an opportunity to show her what it's like to drink at a decent bar — nothing too high tail, just somewhere that doesn't violate basic health codes. It's really not too much to ask.

Two raspberry mojitos and a perfectly prepared Martini or two later, they end up in a seating area by the window. 

So far, all they've talked about is work, work, and more work so it's fair to say the night so far hasn't exactly been riveting.

Marci starts to worry – it's not that she thinks Karen isn't having a good time, but that is sort of what it looks like, and she has a reputation to uphold.

"You don't get out much do you Karen?" 

Karen looks a little offended as she turns to meet Marcis gaze but it soon softens into a smile.

"Sorry. I don't really do this – you know, the girls night out thing."

She rolls her eyes, "yeah, I can tell." 

Marci suspects she already knows what she's going to say next.

"How come Foggy and Matt didn't —"

"–  _ because _ ," she interrupts, "I told them you needed some quality time with me, and they  _ totally _ agreed." 

That was definitely a lie. She hadn't not invited them. She'd actively  _ uninvited _ them. Yes, that's right, because Matt Murdock is not conducive for fun. Of any kind. Okay, maybe one kind. But that clearly doesn't apply where Karen Page is concerned. Watching them at the office lately had been painful. Karen was more uptight than an eskimos ballsack. 

"Matt probably wouldn't have come anyway," Karen says self-assuringly. 

And if he did, he'd have gone to bed at the impressively unsociable time of around 11pm –

"Exactly," Marci agrees, finishing the last of her drink and sliding the glass back onto the table where an attentive waiter is already taking it away with a smile.

She glances over at Karen again to already find her distracted at something outside the window.

"Karen sweetie. I'm not going to lie to you, you're starting to really kill my vibe with this pining thing."

She snaps her head round like Marci's just accused her of a war crime.

"We should talk about it."

Her mouth opens but no words come out. Marci holds up her hand and intercepts a passing waiter, "can I get a tray of shots?" 

"Marci.."

"Anything in particular?" The waiter asks.

"Hm. Surprise us," Marci smirks flirtatiously.

" _ Marci.  _ Talk about what?" Karen's wearing an impatient frown now and it's sort of a tiny bit adorable.

"We need to talk about how fucking bad you've got it for Murdock."

Her eyes drop down into her drink, her fingers busy poking at mushed up lime with her straw — she stutters, "it's not –"

"Oh c'mon Karen. You're literally thinking about him right now."

That shame ridden smile says it all. Who said you didn't know how to empathize? 

"I don't know what you want me to say."

Marci leans in."Okay wait, you two really didn't..? You dated for a while right?" 

"God, I wish."

That actually explains a lot. For some reason she'd always assumed that they'd at least had a fling, or a night of passion, or a quick, regretful fuck in the office. That was the reason they were so awkward around each other – because they tried, and it just never worked out. After all, Marci knows a thing or two about the subject. Railing and bailing had practically been her mantra until she'd crossed paths with Foggy again. And it was true that it was never the same working with someone once you'd seen them naked. 

But now, with this new information, she only finds herself even more irritated at Matt. I mean, at least give the poor girl a ride. You don't have to be a sighted person to know how badly she needs it.

"Look Karen, we're friends right? So I'm gonna level with you." She pauses as the waiter slides a tray of shots onto the table, "Matt's got terrible taste in woman, like really bad. I mean we're talking – rubber-room-level crazy. I don't think I'm even allowed to say that.. fuck it. I'm saying it."

Karen's definitely offended now. She's gone in too strong with 'you're too good for Matt' thing and it's coming off the exact opposite of what she means.

"What I mean is, you're not his type. You're uh.. "

"Boring? You're gonna say boring aren't you?"

Marci grimaces, "drink this" she hands her a dubious looking shot and they both tip their heads back reluctantly before slamming the glass back on the table. 

"Not boring," she winces through the after burn of tequila, "you're good. Like.. wheatgrass-smoothie-cleanse good."

Karen gives her a look and picks up another shot. Marci thinks that probably says more than words ever could. 

"Okay. Bad analogy. What I'm saying is, it's difficult to crave something you've never tasted, no?" 

_ C'mon Karen. That was actually pretty clever. _

"I guess," Karen shrugs, "but what does that mean? What should I do?"

Marci leans back into the couch, crossing her legs and mimicking a look of contemplation. "That's a good fucking question."

***

About an hour later, just before they leave, Karen gets pretty flirty with the barman. Asking if he's ever drank the 'eel'? Marci thinks that's probably a euphemism – turns out – it's actually a drink. Who knew? Josie's has truly tainted that girl. 

There's another bar about a ten minute walk away with their name on it. Only problem is, ten minutes is quite a long way when you're much more drunk than you thought you were. They're having far too much fun to get in a cab. All six foot nine inches of Karen is hanging off of her arm, folded over and giggling uncontrollably. When she loses balance it nearly sends Marci straight into some mysteriously camouflaged scaffolding —

"Shit!" Karen yelps, "are you okay?" Her caring tone isn't all that convincing through the laughter she's struggling to hold in.

"I'm fine," Marci slurs, "where the fuck did that come from anyway?" She moves them both around the metal pole that's in front of them as they continue to stagger along the sidewalk. "And by the way, stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not —" Karen holds her hand over her mouth. 

"Stop laughing! I'm being deadly fucking serious right now."

"You're not."

"Deadly," she winks.

Karen shakes her head in disgust.

"Judge me all you want. You would let Matt do anything to you."

"That's not true," she counters sharply, but then she tips her head back and shakes out her hair like some sort of fair maiden waiting for prince fucking Matthew to rescue her, "you're so right though."

They both break into hysterical laughter.

"Okay." Marci swings her round to cross the road back in the direction they came, "it's detour time." 

"But what about  _ dancing _ ?" Karen moans sarcastically.

"There's someone we need to visit first."

****

Boy, did she not wanna go up those stairs.

In the end she'd given up and she'd had to stomp her way up there all by herself until Karen had finally, reluctantly, followed, probably in an attempt to drag her back down the way she came. But by then it was too late, Marci was already banging on Matt's door.

"Nooo you don't understand Marci. We can't – we  _ cant." _

Maybe it was a terrible idea. Realistically, there was nothing useful that was going to come from waking up an already grouchy blind man in the middle of the night so Karen could what? Tell him about her feelings? But, it  _ was _ incredibly entertaining. And after what she'd heard tonight it was probably as close to real, honest communication as they were ever going to get.

"Matt! Matthew! Karen wants — "

"Marci.  _ Don't you dare _ ." Karen narrows her eyes and snarls. Marci knows better than to take anything Karen Page says as an empty threat but, on this occasion she's willing to risk it.

She raises her voice a little higher, "we're sorry we uninvited you Matt...Matt? Karen wants a birthday kiss –"

Karen screeches, " _ Marci!" _

"She wants to sit —" The rest of her sentence is muffled against the slap of Karen's palm over her mouth as she tugs her away from the door.

"I know he's in there." Marci says, dragging herself free.

"For God sakes, you're gonna wake Fran."

"Who the hells Fran?"

_ "Shhh _ ." Karen's voice drops to a low whisper, "it's the neighbor, she's not a happy woman Marci."

"Well — Sue me Fran!" 

Karen laughs and they both slide down the wall behind them until they're sitting side by side on the concrete floor.

"I don't think he's in."

"Thank God." Karen breathes a sigh of relief.

"Where does a blind man go at 1am in the morning anyway?" 

There's a pause before she answers, "I don't know."

"He's got a side hustle hasn't he?" Marci leans her head lazily on to Karen's shoulder, "you must know. What is it?" Marci whispers, "is he a drug dealer?"

"Of course not. He's a lawyer."

Marci gasps, "what then? A topless water? A stripper? It's gotta be something." She is joking about that last one. It would be impossible to strip while holding a cane, not to mention horrendously awkward.

"You're insane," Karen laughs just as the lock on the door clicks and like a scene from a fairy tale no one's ever heard of, that idiot's standing there, half pulling on a t-shirt, his hair flattened and weirdly sweaty against his head.

Marci slips off one of her shoes and uses it as a projectile. Luckily for him it lands a few feet away after bouncing clumsily off the door frame. 

"Good birthday Karen?" Matt smirks.

Karen flinches. Then covers her eyes. Then gets up with the speed of an Olympian.

"I'm sorry Marci, I uh — I can't. I'm sorry Matt. Sorry."

Marci gives her a puzzled look before directing her glare back at Matt, "what did you do? You jerk."

Karen disappears down the stairs and she feels the light touch of Matt's hand on her arm.

"Marci. Please look after her."

Okay. She has to admit, that was kind of sweet.

"Don't worry, I will."  _ Asshat _ .

  
  



	2. donuts and bubble butts

"Good morning my little sugar pie!"

Marci winces. Her head's pounding and her mouth's drier than her mother's Thanksgiving dinner but there's a warm and delightfully familiar weight on her thighs.

"Foggy," she groans, "Foggy Bear stop it, I'm a disgusting human, please."

"Umm _._ You don't look disgusting. You look delicious."

Marci laughs."You idiot." 

"And If I didn't have to go to work.." he wiggles his eyebrows in the most unsexy way possible, his hand moving temptingly close to the warmth between her legs, "but – alas!" He pulls away, "you'll just have to make do with these instead," he reaches for a little box in his back pocket and tosses it on to her chest. 

"Oh _._ Aspirins. My favourite breakfast," Marci rolls her eyes, squinting as he draws open the curtains.

"You're so welcome! You have a good night? Oh wait – you can't have. You weren't at Josie's."

"Ha," she yawns, "that's funny. But yeah actually, I did."

"And Karen?"

Marci tucks the cover in tight around her chin, "I think so."

"She bring him up?" 

Marci gives him a look. 

"I knew it! I told you she would."

Foggy _had_ told her she would. And like she had, he'd been more than tolerant in the beginning. Nelson, Murdock & and Page had been everything he'd ever wanted, a napkin come true, and it turns out, there's a lot of things you can brush aside under the pretense of nostalgia. Especially when terms like 'dream team' are getting thrown around on the daily. 

"Yeah.. it's worse than we thought," she finishes.

Marci watches as he stands in front of the mirror and adjusts his tie. He really does look damn good in a dark brown suit — I mean, obviously, because she chose it for him.

"How do you think I feel? I work with them. _Every_ _day Marci_. I don't know if this much exposure to pheromones is good for me. Maybe I should say something...I should talk to Matt."

"Tried that," Marci scoffs.

Foggy turns to her sharply. "Oh God what did you do? Cause remember Marci, I _do_ have to work with them." He gives her a look of scorn.

It's kind of hot.

"Nothing. I did nothing. She'll be fine," Marci reassures him, "it definitely could have been worse." 

"Ohh. _Great_. I'll look forward to Karen not talking to me all week. It really helps with the, y'know, running a business thing." 

Hm. She never really thought of that. But she doesn't really think of much when Martinis are involved.

"I'll fix it," she says guiltily, "you know me. I can be _very_ persuasive," she lets the cover drip off her shoulder as she eyes him, his arms drop to his sides and he tips his head back melodramatically, sighing in a way that says she's about to become more than just a minor inconvenience.

"Are you going to make me late for work again?"

"I thought you were in court today?"

He groans, " _goddammit_ Marci, I am in court today _,"_ he kneels on the bed and buries his face into her stomach, "but you're so sexy," she can barely hear his voice muffled into the thick duvet, "have I ever told you how much I hate you?" 

Marci can't help but giggle at how ridiculous he is – and she hates to admit it but she's almost completely forgotten about her hangover already. Foggy is truly the best medicine a girl could ever ask for.

"Later," she says, biting her lip.

"Damn you justice system!" He curses, as he slides off the bed, grabs his bag, and shuffles reluctantly out the door.

**

A long hot shower and a tall glass of orange juice later and Marci is feeling surprisingly fresh all things considered. She drags a towel over her wet hair while she checks her phone, feeling a pang of guilt when she glances down and sees a message from Karen that reads:

" _Deceased. Cause of death: Marci Stahl."_

A little dramatic maybe, but it makes her chuckle.

She replies with something nice, remembering that she promised Foggy she'd try and fix whatever chaos she'd caused.

"Rest up. I'll see you later ;)"

***

It's around noon by the time Marci convinces herself she looks presentable enough to leave her apartment. It's possible there's enough concealer under her eyes to cover up a small homicide and she starts to wonder why the more she walks the more she can smell tequila — 

She takes a detour on her way to Nelson, Murdock & Page's offices. There's a box of donuts at a new bakery around the block with Karen Page's name on it – not because she's got some making up to do, but because secretly, she's just fucking thoughtful like that.

When she finally arrives at the office, donuts in hand, it's expectedly quiet. Foggy's at the courthouse all day and there's a high probability Karen's vomiting into a bucket somewhere.

Matt's the only person here and he's standing over by the copier wearing his usual low-effort shirt and tie combo. He's obviously not been dealing with any clients face to face today, or at least she hopes not, because there's a pretty obvious bruise blossoming on his cheek and he's clearly been rubbing his hands through his hair which is now sticking up in hilariously awkward directions.

She dumps the donuts on the desk and walks towards him loudly like she's approaching an easily spooked wild horse. 

"Matthew, Matthew, Matthew," she purrs. 

"Marci. Good afternoon. How's the head?" 

"I don't get hangovers Matt. I'm a professional."

"Lawyer or alcoholic?" He counters at infuriating speed.

" _Ha_. My sides are splitting," she picks up the pile of paper that's beginning to form a jam at the other end of the printer and straightens it up out of the goodness of her heart. It puts her at an ideal angle to check out that ass Karen would not shut up about last night. Of course she's noticed it before — she's not blind. But she takes the opportunity to really stare on Karen's behalf, after all, he doesn't know.

Matt clears his throat loudly, "you spoken to Karen?"

"Yeah," Marci smiles, "she's fine — I mean she's a little delicate, but fine," she watches as he bends over slightly and a part of her starts to grow concerned for the seams in his less-than-good-quality suit pants. 

"Good," he nods.

"I suppose I should apologize for waking you last night. I mean, I'm not actually sorry but you know, for Karen's sake."

Matt walks towards his desk and runs his hands briefly over the curve of his buttocks, it only aids in drawing more of her attention towards the disgustingly perfect shape of it. 

"You're forgiven," he says simply, barely giving her a shred of the much needed attention she requires.

"Okay wait. Did you honestly sleep through all that?" 

The question has been on her mind since she woke and if she's really honest it's the main reason she's here. She hadn't been serious about the stripper thing, although with that ass, it would be worth keeping the option open, but there's definitely something – something fishy about Matt Murdock.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Wow," she says, "you'd think being blind would sharpen your other senses or something."

Matt frowns briefly and then forces a laugh, "I'm a pretty deep sleeper."

Right. Sure you are. You were totally jacking off. "Well to be honest it's probably for the best that you didn't hear that first part."

His lips twitch again and she almost swears that that son of a bitch is lying. 

"You should go and see Karen." Marci says defiantly.

"Why? What did she say?" Matt stills his hands and his head turns with interest.

"Nothing. It's her birthday. That's what _friends_ do isn't it?"

****

Karen answers the door in a pair of sweats and a Hard rock cafe t-shirt that's cracking horribly around the logo clearly having seen way too many wash cycles.

"You look like shit," Marci grins. She doesn't. She looks effortlessly pretty but it's a well known fact that Marci doesn't do straight compliments.

"I brought donuts."

"Well in that case — _come in_ ," Karen smiles. 

Karen's apartment isn't her cup of tea, but it has its charms. She takes a seat on one of the stools in the kitchen and slides the bottle of wine she's been hiding behind her back on to the table.

"Little known fact; one of the best cures for a hangover is more alcohol."

Karen looks at her disgusted, puffing out her cheeks in a way that makes it look like she might throw up.

"Absolutely not."

Marci shrugs, "just a thought." 

Soon there's a cup of very strong coffee in front of her and Karen is making herself comfy at the opposite side of the table.

"So uh.. I took the liberty of checking out his ass for you."

Karen turns her head sharply and this time it's Marci who's staring intently into her drink. 

"It's a good ass Karen. Really. Lots of potential."

She sighs and rubs her fingers over her eyes, "you know, just because he's blind doesn't mean –" she pauses and changes her mind over what she's going to say, "nevermind."

Is she trying to hint that Matt knows when he's been leered at by all the tail he attracts? Does he _feel_ their eyes burning holes through his tighty whities? Because he certainly doesn't have super senses when it comes to hearing. She'd already established that.

"Did he mention anything?" Karen adds.

"Not exactly. He reckons he was asleep. But I'm not convinced. I suppose if it's true then it saves you some embarrassment."

"Yeah. Somehow I doubt that," she agrees.

"I really think you should tell him anyway." 

"Which part?"

 _Which part?_ What sort of depraved monster does Karen take her for? She obviously doesn't mean the part where she said she'd like to ride his face or tie him up or use his walking cane on his ass — that last one had been a joke. At least she thinks it was.

"The part where you said you'd like a relationship with him. A relationship that's _more_ than friends."

"You know it's more complicated than that Marci, especially when I'm sober," she sighs, "he's got a guilt problem. I've got a self doubt problem. We're both terrible at communicating. And if it goes wrong I still have to work with him. It's too risky."

"Well, sometimes the risk is worth it." Marci gives her one of her rare, genuinely authentic smiles.

"I really don't know if it is."

Karen doesn't know it but there is a little wisdom behind her encouragement. She'd worked on projects with Matt through their college years. Mostly, he was just a pain in the ass, she hung out with him because she was secretly crushing way too hard on Foggy. But during that time his terrible taste in women wasn't the only thing she'd learnt about him – he liked to take risks, big ones, especially for a blind guy. The whole soon-to-be Nelson & Murdock empire was built upon ludicrous risks. Risks she sure as hell wouldn't take. 

Karen is a risk taker too. 

They don't know it but they're so similar they can't see the wood for the trees.

"Maybe asking you to work with him was just an olive branch?" 

Karen chuckles, "well then his flirting technique sucks."

" _Yes_. I agree. But.. maybe it's up to you now. Why bother with the slow dance. Just go straight in with the wanna fuck?"

Surprisingly Karen doesn't laugh. She glares at Marci and scans her eyes for sincerity.

"You're serious?"

"It worked with Foggy."

Karen winces. "Hm."

"Listen Karen. I don't use the L word lightly but...."

Karen groans and puts her head on the table, "I'm too hungover for this Marci. It's a mess."

Marci would probably have to agree with that. But sometimes hungover minds speak sober thoughts.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty goodness coming up next 😉


	3. a little older, a little wiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the smut

"Flowers?  _ Really _ ?"

"For your birthday, obviously." Matt says. 

"Marci put you up to this didn't she?" He can tell she's squinting at him suspiciously. Even the most trivial of lies doesn't get passed Karen Page.

"No? — okay fine. Don't tell her I told you though. She might come after me."

Karen chuckles, "she actually might."

Matt decides against sitting down. He doesn't know why, maybe he only intends for this to be a flying visit, sitting down would mean a higher likelihood of staying, and well — talking.

He leans against the kitchen counter while Karen stands on her tiptoes to reach for a vase in the back of the cupboard. He's close enough that he can feel the heat coming from the strip of skin that her T-shirt leaves exposed as she stretches – he likes her even more when she's like this. When her hair's in a messy half-ponytail and the sweetness of her skin is uninterrupted by make- up or perfume or tight fitting office attire.

But there's something else too. A subtle, but all too familiar note of something mellow and tempting, and forbidden – he swallows it down. Tries to ignore it, but it's already enough to bring a rosiness to his cheeks and a jolt of arousal to straight to where he could really do without it right now.

"I suppose you heard everything," she says like she's already accepted the truth of it.

"A little," Matt shrugs, "you had fun though right?"

"Yeah, I did actually." Her hands are busying themselves arranging the flowers in the vase and she's fussing an awful lot for someone who's probably never so much as set foot in a florist.

"I think Marci genuinely thinks you're a drug dealer by the way."

"Ah, I've been called worse." 

"By me, you mean?" Karen teases.

"Exactly." 

She smiles shyly and her breath shakes as she turns to him, "I'm sorry I ran off so fast last night."

Matt's not really sure why she's apologizing, he probably would have run off too.

"It was Marci's idea" she adds, "I was actually hoping you were out beating someone up for once, can you believe that?"

He was – out beating someone up. Much, much earlier in the night. It had taken Matt a while to answer the door because he was still out on the rooftops. Listening.

He clears his throat, "technically I was. Before — but, I uh, I get it. Marci's good at making a scene. It's sort of what she does."

"Yeah she is," Karen agrees, "did she say anything to you? Marci, I mean?"

"About what?" 

"About me."

Considering what he knew, and what he'd heard, Marci had, admittedly been, an extremely loyal friend.

"Nothing," Matt replies,"why?" 

Karen doesn't answer, instead she smothers a prideful smirk behind her hand as she passes him a mug of coffee. "I'd offer you something stronger but then it's possible I might throw up." 

Matt chuckles and lets the room simmer back down into silence before he decides to speak again –

"Karen," he says in a serious tone, "I think Marci might have checked out my ass today."

Karen has to clutch her hand over her mouth to swallow her mouthful of coffee before she bursts into delightful, unbridled laughter. God, how he loves that sound.

"I'm so sorry."

" _ You're _ sorry?" Matt doesn't notice how much he's smiling but she does – she looks at him and blushes, turning her gaze quickly back towards the floor. 

"I mean," she stutters, "I don't know where she —"

"I don't mind," Matt reassures her, "it's nice to have admirers."

"Yeah I mean of course. Everyone needs admirers." 

Matt suppresses a grin against the rim of his cup. There's no question who his number one admirer is – she's standing a mere two feet away from him. 

Karen being unable to resist checking him out in the office despite the fact she knows  _ he knows _ is a staple, and much appreciated part of his day.

Karen bites the last of her guilty smile back again and the room falls into heavy silence. There's a chip in the handle of her mug and he can hear her nervously flicking her nail against it.

"Matt?" She asks softly, her eyes still fixed like stone on the floor in front of her.

"Yeah?"

He hears it again. Tap tap tap tap tap.

The air in her lungs is braced, waiting. Her tongue pressed solidly to the back of her teeth.

Something tells him he should put his mug down on the counter. When he does and he feels the tiniest overlap of her fingers over his.

"Is it just me, or, is there a tension between us?"

Her voice is strangely calm and measured, almost rehearsed. But that doesn't stop her heart from giving her away.

He swallows, "it's not just you."

She nods as if to reassure herself and then in the next moment there's a finger hooked through his belt loop and a hand ghosting up the length of his arm, and her body is tantalisingly close and —

"We should have sex."

She says quickly, blurting it out like it's the only way shes going to say it all. Matt white-knuckles the counter top either side of him.

"You're serious?" He breathes, feeling almost frozen in place.

She toys with the leather strap that's threaded underneath his metal belt buckle, threatening to pull it loose, "you tell me."

He wants to tell her, but he's speechless. Her scent, her closeness, her confidence. Fuck. All of it is making him dizzy and it's impossible not to feel invited — he shifts and squeezes his hips forward in a silent dare that says; do it. Unbuckle me, Karen.

She bites her lip and pulls. His belt falls open and Matt's hands finally come away from the hard surface at his sides to meet the buttery soft contours of her hips. 

The groan that escapes him when she cups him through his jeans surprises both of them, Matt chuckles and Karen stifles it into a fiery kiss, it's so demanding that he finds he's got no control over how he's kissing her back. He loses himself in the honeyed, velvety feel of her mouth, tongues sliding against lips as her weight falls forward and she arches into him.

_ Jesus _ , the thought of turning her round and tugging her pants down and fucking her right here on the kitchen counter —

"Bedroom?" She pants desperately, distracting him from his thoughts as she drags his t-shirt clear of his torso.

They twist as they head towards the bed, battling for who's walking backwards, who's going to land on top of who, and in the end it's Matt who's thighs hit the mattress first.

She stands and drags away her clothes, he thinks about complaining that she's doing too much work – that he's barely even touched her yet. But when she crawls over him and straddles his hips wearing nothing but her bra, all thoughts of complaining quickly disappear.

God, the weight of her, the pillowy embrace of her thighs as she moves, grinding, kissing him.

He slips his hands around her back and starts working on removing her one last item of clothing when suddenly he feels a jarring vibration against his hip. It's coming from.. Karen? No. Not Karen — from his phone. 

It's tucked into his front jean pocket which is sandwiched under her bare thigh and it's chanting just about the most off-putting thing you'd ever want to hear in a moment like this —

_ Foggy, Foggy, Foggy _ .

"You're busy," Karen breathes. 

"I'll get rid of him."

She moves and he answers shakily, "Foggy –"

Karen tugs at his fly, pulling his jeans down just enough to spring him free of his pants. His breath catches.

"Matt? Did you just moan? Do I need to phone an ambulance?"

_ Maybe _ . "I'm fine," he chokes. 

She's sliding her hand up and down his cock and his vocabulary has narrowed down to all but just three words. He has no choice but to still her wrist, fearing that if she carries on, all Karen's going to get for her birthday is disappointment, and an extra load of dirty laundry.

"I'm just heading home I'll uh – I'll call you back."

"Matt – "

"I'll call you back," Matt says again as he hangs up. Foggy isn't getting a better excuse than that right now. He tosses the phone on to the floor and centers his attention back on to the gorgeous woman sitting in his lap.

_ "C'mere,"  _ he gestures for her to come towards his mouth.

"You heard me didn't you?" She asks, confused as a surge of heat creeps over her skin.

"Maybe – it doesn't matter — yes."

He helps her by edging himself downwards on his elbows, weaving a shoulder in between the milky pillars of her thighs.

It makes her feel shy and she hesitates as she positions herself above him, the little whimpering sound that comes out of her only making him want to bury himself in her more.

"Karen, please," he says, soft, his arms wrapping around her legs as she locks eyes with him, "I want to feel you come on my mouth – it's all I can think about." 

When she surrenders her embarrassment and he cranes his neck up to taste her, breathe her in — it's better than he could have ever imagined. 

Tension quickly leaves her body and pleasure takes its place. She's so swollen and wet already, so deliciously close, her breathings coming hot and fast, catching in her throat. The need to give her everything, surpassing his own urge to breathe. Her fingers come to brace her on the mattress behind him and he feels even more pined down – fuck it's glorious. It chases something deep, and primal from him and he slap-grabs her ass he pulls her firmly onto his tongue.

" _Oh_ _fuck, Matt holy shit —"_

He doesn't really have the air to waste on a moan but he does it anyway.

Her hips rock and she arches.

_ Fuck —  _ yes. Just like that. The grip he has on her thighs supports her as she comes apart above him, squirming and moaning and trembling, until she's still, so still.

A decision is made then. Whatever else happens tonight — to them. However complicated things get. This will not be the last time he loses all of himself under the weight of Karen Page. 

After she rolls off him, Matt awkwardly sheds the last of his clothes, barely waiting a second to bury himself in the slick, perfect heat of her. 

They both gasp, and it's as much in relief as it is in pleasure. How long he's thought about this, played it over and over in his mind, and now their bodies are moving together in sync and every doubt, every worry he's ever had about her – about them, melts away, and leaves only what he knew had been there ever since the very beginning.

The bed creeks and he feels her hand pushing at the center of his chest.

"Can I..."

Matt's breath shudders against his chest. She's trying to kill him.

But he nods obediently and they roll, adjusting until he's flat on his back and she's on top of him again, and this time, he knows he's done for.

There's just too many places to put his hands, too much of Karen to explore all at once. A surge of his own pleasure catches him leaving greedy marks on her hips, only just managing to hold as he trails up over her breasts, her neck, resisting the urge to squeeze at where her pulse rises to meet his fingertips.

That familiar lavender scent of her hair – the one thing that always signals her presence, crashes over him like a wave. He brushes it aside, seeking the comfort of her mouth.

"God, you're amazing," he breathes. She fills the room with his name and for once his mind is completely clear. Bliss takes him somewhere else. Somewhere he can only be when he's with her.

Not a single other thing matters — except that she's here. He has her. And she wants him.

  
  
  



	4. his own tooth brush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff so sweet I'm a diabetic now

To say Matt was the best she'd ever had was probably the understatement of the century.

And to spend the best part of years falling in love with someone, obsessing over them, losing them, accepting gracefully that you'll probably never have them, only to finally get them into bed and the first thing they do, is ask you to sit on their face —

Matt Murdock was a devil in the streets and a goddamned blazing hell-fire in the sheets.

He'd left her exhausted and smiling, watching him strut butt-naked into her bathroom like he paid rent or something. When he'd come out, his ridiculous body glistening wet and smelling of her favourite berries and cream shower gel he'd ended up kissing his way back up her thighs and it had started the whole process again.

It was long passed midnight by the time they'd had their fill of each other. 

There was a lot she still needed to say to him. 'Thank you for the best birthday I'll probably ever have' would be a start. But also serious things, things she'd hoped sex would make somehow easier to talk about. 

By that time though, he'd already made himself comfortable behind her back. She'd half expected him to notice the time and half jump out of his skin to disappear off into the night;

"You don't need to go?" She'd asked, expecting the streets to be calling to him, but he'd only yawned adorably into the back of her neck and replied with something along the lines of: 

"Karen, I can't even fight sleep."

Even barely conscious he was still making her laugh. 

He'd still been there in the morning. 

**

It's Wednesday and the rush at her favourite cafe is particularly busy this morning. The files in her arms are slipping from the crook of her elbow and the barista is just about to pass her a coffee which she's almost certain she's going to spill all over herself.

As soon as she turns to make her way out the door, the lid predictably pops off and hot liquid streams down the side of her cup and over her fingers.

"Shit – "

There's a restrained laugh coming from somewhere and her paranoia has her thinking it's directed at her. _It is_ directed at her.

Marci.

"Karen Page, you sly dog."

Karen's eyes widen, Marci's not referring to how her rapport with Chris the barista got her a free shot of espresso in her coffee this morning, although she is still pretty chuffed about that. No, Marci's referring to the text she'd sent yesterday, while she was wrapped in a towel on her bed, Matt having just left. After all, she had to tell someone.

"I suppose I should be thanking you," Karen says, still trying her best to walk and talk while simultaneously jamming the lid back onto her coffee cup.

"Please don't," Marci scrunches up her face, "it'll make it awkward." 

"Well next time we're out I'm buying you a drink."

"Not from Josie's."

"The finest Martini money can buy. I promise."

Marci pretends to think it over for a second before replying, "okay, deal."

It's only about a five minute walk around the corner from the coffee shop to Karen's new offices but still, she finds herself glad of Marci's company.

"I'm not trying to take the shine away from your new found armour," Marci says, "but I assume you took my advice?"

A smile blooms across Karen's face, the memory of it is still so fresh that even the most subtle reminder sets her off blushing. "Not your _exact_ words."

"Well obviously, you're a woman of taste Karen."

They cross the street in front of them and come to a corner where they have to part ways.

"He'll have his own toothbrush soon," Marci says casually.

Karen chuckles while taking tentivititve sip from her still far too hot coffee, "is that how you measure the seriousness of your relationships?" 

"Absolutely, the day there's extra toothbrush in your bathroom that's when you know. You can get very emotionally attached to a toothbrush. Trust me."

"Well I look forward to his toothbrush then," Karen laughs.

"And then after that — marriage, babies, life ruined."

Karen rolls her eyes and starts to reluctantly put distance between them realising that they're beginning to form an inconvenient blockade against the flow of people passing them by on the sidewalk.

"Work first," Karen raises her voice a little. 

Marci grins as she turns away,"can't be any worse than it was right?" The clicking of her heels merges into the crescendo of other commuters and their purposeful feet as she disappears round the corner. 

Marci was wrong about that part. Karen had made a fatal error by not booking herself any interviews and consequently being stuck in the office all day with him. 

It made her feel slightly better that he seemed to be finding it just as awkward, apologizing profusely that he'd had to hide in his office most of the morning listening to case work on his laptop and that it definitely had absolutely nothing to do with avoiding her. Ironic, considering that avoiding him was exactly what she was doing. 

In the end she'd resorted to a similar tactic by closing her office door and putting her head down in her writing. Once she'd found her flow the words came much easier than they normally would. Maybe sexual frustration had been legitimately affecting her work after all.

About an hour before home, Foggy pops his head through the door. 

"What?" Karen frowns as she pulls out one of her ear phones.

He points towards Matt's room and raises his eyebrows.

Karen gives him a confused look, "I'm gonna need specifics Foggy."

"You two," he smiles giddily.

Innocent until proven guilty Karen. That's what they teach you. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He closes the door steps inside the room. Karen's arms come up defensively and fold at her chest. 

"For the record. I'm really fucking relieved. And happy for you. But mainly relieved — "

"No no wait. What is it you think you know?"

"You and Matt." 

Karen sighs a low, impatient huff. _Marci_.

"Great," she says, flustered, scraping her paperwork off the desk and back into a file that she'll hate herself for not properly ordering tomorrow, "do me a favour and never mention this again."

Foggy grins and claps his hands together, "sorry can't promise."

***

Matt had been all awkward and polite on their way back to his apartment, with a "sorry, you first," and a "are you sure you're not cold? Do you want my jacket?" As she wrapped her arm around his waist.

The pleasantries were a nice appetiser, they filled her chest with butterflies and the burning hot thrill of anticipation. They'd barely made it through the door of his apartment by the time they were ripping each other's clothes off. 

It started against the wall. That low, deliciously raspy voice in her ear telling her how he'd done nothing but think about her all day. It had ended much later, in the bedroom, after some very inappropriate use of the couch in between, which got Karen thinking that if Fran hadn't already made a noise complaint, she was definitely going to now.

There was something incredibly flattering about watching Matt's chest rise and fall as he rolled off of her. To make a man with such athleticism so utterly breathless. 

They're lying beside each other, the wrong way across the bed and Matt's wearing a contemplative look on his face, his eyelids weighing heavy with the surge of oxytocin rushing through his body.

"Karen," he breathes, his arm flopping towards her to seek her hand hold. There's a question at his lips and it's enough to fill her with dread at the thought that it might be something bad.

"I need to say something. I should say it now, while I'm – " he runs his hands through his hair, unsticking it from his forehead.

Post sex Matt is different to normal Matt. He's softer, more in touch with everything. A classic pillow talker – if only she could have got him into bed before now, they probably would have made significantly more progress in the communication department.

"What is it?" Karen says nervously.

"This," Matt says, "me and you."

"Me and you?"

"It's been amazing."

She blushes, even despite the 'but' that she senses.

"I really thought I'd — "

Lost you. Fucked it up. Burnt everything we ever had to the ground several times over?

That's what he wants to say.

Truth is, he'd never done any of that. Not really. It had taken some time for her to realise but she knew now that what she felt for Matt wasn't the sort of love you could just switch off. She didn't get a choice on whether she could feel it or not. It was a seasonal hum. As much a part of her day as the weather. Sometimes it was nothing more than a pleasant breeze, a comforting awareness of each others unwavering loyalty. Sometimes it was a stifling, almost unbearable heat, enough to suffocate her, to make her seek relief, and shelter far far away from him. But the one thing it never was, was absent.

"If you say it's not you, it's me, I swear to God," Karen muses, trying to distract herself from the weighty expression on Matt's face.

"It doesn't matter how many times I say sorry," Matt says, "thinking about how I hurt you.. It haunts me Karen."

She lets out a long sigh. For once, she finds herself thinking; change the record Matt. But she gathers the sheet around her legs and rolls into his side instead, tracing her fingers delicately over the creases at his eyes.

"One day you'll forgive yourself. And I'll still be here."

His breath shakes a little, and he directs his eyes back towards the ceiling. She watches his Adams apple rise and fall in his throat for a long moment before he speaks.

"I think I'm a little bit in love with you, Miss Page."

She was really starting to doubt whether she'd ever hear those words. She really does owe Marci that Martini.

"I hope those are good tears," Matt smiles, hearing her frantically wiping her face with the bedsheet like if she does it fast enough, maybe he won't notice.

"Yes," she sniffles, "good – definitely good." She smiles and seeks out the curve of his lips, there's a million things she could say, but she replies the best she knows how, with a kiss.

  
  
  
  



End file.
